


Burn In This All Day

by madeoflightning



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Harry, Daddy Kink, Light Dom/sub, M/M, PWP, Rimming, Spanking, Top Louis, but no actual zayn, im fake, like there's vague plot but im just here for Daddy!Louis wbu, mentions of zayn, very light spanking though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-03-01 03:11:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2757359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madeoflightning/pseuds/madeoflightning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You see,” Louis sounds so calm to Harry, so in control – so completely opposite to how Harry feels right now, “I would. I’d love to, in fact. But I have a personal rule that I don’t fuck people whose names I don’t know. And I’m very sure your name is not Marcel. So how about you tell me your name?” Harry can envision Louis’ smirk behind his eyelids, but can’t bring himself to actually look at Louis. (He’s quite sure if he does, he’ll come and ruin everything.)</p><p>Or; Harry is a temp at Malik Inc. who's fiddling the accounts - for a good cause - and he's caught by the head of the sports division, Louis Tomlinson. And his name isn't Marcel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burn In This All Day

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still not sure how to write smut, but here. This is so not something that would happen in real life, which pains me. But have this anyway.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing, obviously. I gain nothing from this, only shame and disappointment in myself.

Harry always felt bad – like, literally every time made him feel awful. It was getting easier though – the first time he did it, he’d ended up having a panic attack in the bathroom and the janitor had to bring him back to himself. The janitor was lovely, actually. He still emailed Johnny sometimes.

But now, while he did still feel bad, the worst that happened was it took a bit longer to fall asleep at night.

Niall had told him a couple of times; “If you have to keep telling yourself that it’s not stealing, it probably is stealing.” Though, Niall once ate birthday cake out of the bin. So what does Niall know?

“You starting a new job today?” Speak of the Devil and the Devil shall pass.

“Yeah, Ni. Starting down at Malik Inc.,” Harry adjusted his headscarf and tugged the stray curls into place.

Niall paused for a moment, “Malik Inc. is a big one,” he muttered before he resumed chewing on his toast.

“I know, but like… you’ve seen their stuff, man. It’s not cool how they treat celebrities. All their stories are just slander and-”

Niall threw up his hands, “Hey, you don’t have to convince me lad, I’m well trained in staying clear of your ‘business’,” Niall nearly dropped his toast trying to do air quotes, and Harry’s pretty sure he just saw Niall’s entire life flash before his eyes.

Harry just grimaced and grabbed the spare slice of toast from Niall’s hand as he passed him.

He has it down to a tee now – fake name, new temp job, do their accounts, fiddle them a bit, transfer the money from a poisonous industry to a worthy charity, get his pay check and move on to the next job. Done and done.  Simple. Easy peasy. Harry’s going to throw up.

The first day is always the most difficult – especially because he has to actually _pay attention_. Figure out what he can get away with and what would get him sent straight to Wormwood Scrubs. Harry would not do well in prison.

“I like that look, by the way. Better than the last one – you looked like you were 16 all over again and it kept giving me war flashbacks to when we’d smuggle bottles of your mum’s wine. Awful stuff, that,” Niall laughed, looking Harry up and down.

That was another thing he tended to change, his style. Nothing drastic – he’d rather Wormwood Scrubs than spend every day in a shiny tracksuit or something. His worst one was probably the snapback and baggy jeans combo when the company was super relaxed about the employee’s attire. He knew he had to wrap that job up quickly when an old woman wouldn’t sit next to him on the bus.

 “You don’t think the shirt is too much? Feel’s weird buttoned all the way up. Gotta keep the tattoos hidden though, man,” Harry sighed, looking himself over again in the mirror and straightening the lapels on the suit jacket.

 “Nah, s’fine, look a bit like a rockstar. Should be in one of Malik Inc.’s – what’s it? _Slanderous_ stories,” Niall smirked – though even he could admit that Malik’s stories were dire, they were right up there with TMZ and Perez Hilton. And Malik Inc. is definitely not a company that’ll miss a couple of thousand pounds.

“Right, I’m off,” Harry slung his bag over his shoulder and swallowed down the feeling of nausea.

“Knew I could smell something,” Niall chuckled at his own joke, and Harry didn’t even dignify that with a response as he shut the door to their flat and headed for the tube.

First days are always the worst.

~

Malik Inc. is easily the biggest company Harry has ‘temped’ for – although, this is going to make his job so much easier. He realised quickly just how faceless everyone in this company is. Unless you’re Mr. Malik or the head of a division, nobody could care who you are. He had his photo taken and his name – well, Marcel Cox – put on his keycard, and not once did the man behind the desk even look him in the eye. Harry did notice that pretty much everyone else was smartly dressed and prided himself briefly on his style for this job – it was simple enough, smart shirt, black suit jacket, black skinny jeans and his boots. Maybe he should opt for slacks instead of jeans, though. He’ll consider it.

“Okay Mr. Cox,” the man started, motioning for Harry to follow him, “You’re on the 14th floor, your office is the third on the left and all information necessary to you should be already logged into the computer and in a file on your desk,”

Harry nodded, though the man still hadn’t looked at him. He hadn’t even introduced himself. This could be the easiest job Harry’s ever done if everyone else carries on this way.

“Good luck on the 14th floor, Mr. Cox, and welcome to Malik Inc.,” the man called for the elevator and finally smiled at Harry before turning and walking back towards his desk before Harry could even ask why he’d need luck. The man was probably just being friendly – still sounded a bit worrying though. They wouldn’t be able to keep employees in an office that has asbestos in the walls, would they?

~

Harry had an idea what the warning was for. Over the span of five hours, he’d gone to the bathroom three times, and each time he passed a particular office door, he’d heard a constant stream of some man yelling – or once he actually saw a poor girl leave the room crying. The office looked to be the largest one on the floor, looking as if it took up most of the side of the building. There was no name on the door, though, which Harry thought was a bit weird, really. Even his office had his name on it and he was only a temp.

“Marcel, isn’t it?” Harry heard someone call from an office opposite his own as he walked back from his bathroom visit, only pausing for a split second before he realised the man meant _him_.

“Yeah, Liam right?” Harry recognised the guy who had made him tea in the canteen at lunch. “You alright?”

“Yeah mate, fine. How’re you getting on so far?”

Harry nodded as he replied, “Grand. I’ve not really spoken to anybody except you, but the actual job itself is easy enough, should be fine,”

“Good, I’m glad. If you need anything just let me know,” Liam said, and well – Harry’s curious.

“Actually,” Harry started as he shut Liam’s office door behind him, just in case, “I was just wondering who’s office that is down the hall? The big one with no name on it?”

Liam grimaced for a moment, “Did you see Perrie crying earlier? Because that wasn’t what it looked like, her and- no that’s not for here,” Liam cut himself off and shook his head, though he continued on without Harry pushing, “That’s Louis Tomlinson’s office – he’s the head of the sports section, football mostly. He’s a good man though, young too for a section head. Though he worked his arse off – don’t listen to what anyone else says. He’s a hard worker, constantly on the phone or sorting something – or _someone_ – and he can be quite the hardarse is the thing, probably why most people have it out for him somewhat. And see, he’s Zayn Malik’s best mate, who’s the big boss’ son. So everyone says he doesn’t deserve the position-” Liam cuts himself like he realises how far into the rant he’s getting himself, his hands having been flailing wildly while he talked. Harry smiles softly as he listens, loving how into the discussion and how defensive of this Louis he seems. (Although Harry does think he might still be a bit of a prick. Nobody needs to shout that much.)

“You’ll probably meet him at some stage, anyway. Just… try be nice, he’s got a lot on his plate,” Liam grimaces again, which kind of contradicts his entire rant. Harry’s a bit nervous, really.

~

It’s been two weeks at Malik Inc., and Harry’s been doing his transfers for almost a full week now when he finally meets the Louis Tomlinson everyone seems so scared of. Well, he doesn’t so much _meet_ Louis as he does _accidentally run straight into him and cause Louis to pour his piping hot coffee all over himself_.

“Oops! Oh God, I’m so sorry, oh I am so sorry sir, I didn’t see you there- are you alright?” Harry can feel where the splashes of coffee that had landed on him are searing into his skin, but it’s nothing compared to where a practically full cup of coffee is soaking into this man’s shirt.

The man in question is too busy gripping his shirt and flapping it, while a string of curses fall from his lips. After a few moments he raises his head to look Harry in the eye, his face a picture of anger and Harry could swear there’s actual fire in his eyes. That could just be the steam rising from his shirt though. The livid expression on the man’s face is almost enough to make Harry flinch – until his entire face softens and his eyes widen and. Okay. Well.

The man still hasn’t spoken though, his hand frozen on his wet shirt. “Hi,” he seems to decide on, before he snaps back to the reality of the situation and a displeased expression crosses his face again – though significantly less terrifying than the last one. “Yeah I- I’m fine. It’s just… hot,” the man finishes dumbly, frowning at his shirt.

“Listen, I have my gym bag with me and there’s a t-shirt in it, if you want? Can only be better than a soaked shirt, which I’m _so_ sorry about by the way, I should’ve been looking where I was going,”

“It’s fine,” the man shrugged, still looking at his shirt, “Go on then, I’ll take your t-shirt. As quick as you like, please. I’m in a lot of pain here, mate,”

“Sorry, yeah-” Harry said, turning back into his office and pulling his gym bag from under the desk, “I’m Marcel, by the way,”

“Yeah, the name on the door gave you away pal,” the man joked, though his face was still twisted sourly as he started unbuttoning his wet shirt. It said a lot about Harry that he was able to keep looking for the t-shirt. “I’m Louis, by the way. Louis Tomlinson. I don’t think we’ve met,”

Harry stilled in his search. Liam had said Mr. Tomlinson was young, but he didn’t say he was so fucking _fit_. Shit.

“Oh, you’re Mr. Tomlinson? It’s nice to meet you,” Harry hopes his voice doesn’t shake. Liam had said ‘be nice’. He’s pretty sure giving someone third degree burns isn’t nice. Bollocks.

“Please don’t call me that,” Louis smirks, taking the white t-shirt that Harry held towards him, pointedly looking anywhere that isn’t Louis’ tattooed chest or his nipples or his softly defined torso that Harry might want to sink his teeth into. Arse.

He didn’t mean ‘arse’ as an expression about how shitty this situation is – he meant it more as _fucking Christ you can crack a walnut with that arse._

Harry sticks to observing his boots.

“Sorry, sir,” Harry pulls himself back to the situation at hand.

“Jesus, that’s even worse. Call me Louis,” Louis shakes his head at Harry who just laughs softly.

“Louis,” he says, nodding once as Louis blatantly looks him up and down.

“You don’t look like a ‘Marcel’ by the way,” Louis comments and Harry’s stomach swoops but this isn’t the first time this has happened, he doesn’t think he shows his worry at this point. He’s a professional, damn it. Although the police probably wouldn’t view this as a profession. Whatever.

“I get that a lot,” Harry smiles, “You don’t look old enough to be a section head, but here we are.” Louis doesn’t seem to take that as a compliment.

“I’ll have you know I-” Louis starts but Harry cuts him off quickly, his own eyes widening as he realises how what he said has been misconstrued as an insult.

 “No! No, I just meant, like… congratulations?” Harry finishes lamely, not sure how to articulate what he means. When Louis doesn’t say anything, he fumbles to continue, “Like, I’ve seen your work, you’re talented and like, I mean, like… You know,” he stops again, pretty sure he’s blushing at this point. Louis finally smiles at him, a genuine smile. Harry might like how Louis gets crinkles at the side of his eyes when he smiles. Whatever.

“Right, thanks mate. Sorry just, get a lot of shit for it, and it’s been a long day,” Louis finally, _finally_ , pulls Harry’s t-shirt on and covers his naked torso, meaning Harry’s able to breathe a bit easier.

“Yeah no, of course. I didn’t mean to offend you,”

“You didn’t, it’s cool.” Harry feels like they’re going in circles and he needs to diffuse this before he starts focusing on how swamped Louis is in his t-shirt and how it hangs down his thighs and how wide it is over his collarbones and. Nope. Diffuse, diffuse, diffuse.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how old are you?” Harry knows he’s going into dangerous territory again, but it was either ask that or ask Louis would he prefer him on his back or on his stomach over the desk.

“Twenty three. Interned here in my final year of Uni, and then kicked arse for the last two and a half years. My old boss, the guy I replaced, was retiring and recommended me. And here we are,” Louis smirked, holding his hands out in front of him.

“That’s great! Congratulations Louis, seriously. That’s impressive,” Harry beamed, feeling quite proud for some unfathomable reason he didn’t really want to think about.

“What about yourself, _Marcel_?” Louis rolled Harry’s name – fake name – around his mouth, like it didn’t taste right.

“I’m twenty one, was 17 starting Uni – had to miss most of Freshers, which was awful – then I did Accounting and Finance for three years, graduated, and I’ve been temping ever since,” Louis definitely didn’t need to know about Harry’s extra courses in the I.T. department, or the nights Niall spent teaching him about how to hack into servers or that lark.

“Nice one, did you skip a year then?”

“Yeah, when I was younger I skipped a year. Was always the baby in the class though, so that was a pain. Still, here we are,” Harry mimicked Louis, holding his hands out in front of him witch a matching smirk.

“Smart little lad then, good to have you on the team – for however long you’ll be here,” Harry tried not to grimace at that, momentarily forgetting how he was lying to this beautiful man (who, okay, maybe wasn’t an arsehole after all), though it was all for good cause. He also had to forcefully stop himself from asking about other certain teams that Louis could potentially be on.

“I better get back to what I was doing – actually, better get myself another coffee first. I’ll see you around, Marcel,” and with that, Louis was gone. Probably for the best, though.

~

One month down, two more weeks to go before the woman he’s temping for is due back from maternity leave.

It’s not that Harry’s _disappointed_ in the fact he hasn’t really seen Louis since the Accidental Scalding Incident, he just. No, okay. He’s disappointed. Apart from the occasional smile in the canteen, or the one time he almost ran into Louis again while Louis was carrying a cup of coffee – which led to Louis dramatically side stepping him and a mumbled “Not today, Curly,” as he carried on towards his office, where he returned to screaming and shouting at some poor bugger – he hasn’t spoken to him at all.

It was a Friday evening, and Harry had a long weekend of Netflix and a long overdue Narry Hangout ahead of him. (Niall had called it that when they were high a couple of years ago, and insisted on the term staying. Harry’s suggestion of ‘Hiall’ had led to Harry getting smacked in the face with a pillow and a harsh “No.” from Niall.)

“Marcel,” Liam’s head popped around the wall of Harry’s office, obviously on his way home. “Louis asked if you can pop into his office when everyone’s gone. Something about returning a t-shirt… I don’t really want to know,” Liam said sheepishly, and honestly, Harry doesn’t want to imagine what’s going through Liam’s head.

“No problem – is there many left?” Harry’s palms are sweaty, why does the office have to be empty to return Harry’s t-shirt from weeks ago?

“I’m just heading off now, I think Jade is still in her office. I’ll leave the door open, if you see her go then I think that’s everyone.”

“Cool, cheers mate. I’ll see you Monday,” Harry smiled, trying not to convey how fucking terrified he is on his face.

“See you then bro,” Liam grins and throws his hand up in a quick wave as he leaves the floor for the night.

Harry’s immediately on the phone.

“I’m napping, this better be important,” is the abrupt response.

“I might be having a code red,” Harry whispers heatedly into his phone.

“What?!” Niall is immediately awake. “What’s going on?”

“Louis wants to see me in his office, said he’s returning my t-shirt,” Niall sighs heavily, already well sick of hearing about Louis.

“He’s giving you back your t-shirt, how is that a code red?”

“He said to wait until the entire floor is empty,” Harry’s a bit mad at how Niall doesn’t think this is worrying.

“Maybe you’re living in a porno,” Niall laughs into the receiver. “Plus, he’s the sports department head, right? Why would he be worried about you in the first place? You’re just the temp in the spare office on his floor, no biggie. Don’t worry. Go get your t-shirt, and I’ll have season 2 of Orange is the New Black already on stream. I need to know what Vee’s up to, so get your t-shirt, get home, and try not have sex with Louis. Marcel isn’t a hot name to hear in bed,”

Harry’s laughing now. Niall has that effect on him. “Okay, yeah. You’re right, I’ll see you at home,”, and he hangs up, just as he hears Jade’s heels clicking along the floor.

“’Night Marcel,” she grins into him as she passes. Harry might pass out.

~

“You wanted to see me, sir?” Harry says as he steps into Louis’ office after a quick knock. He acts like he hasn’t spent the last fifteen minutes in his own office, sweating and trying not to dry heave.

“I told you not to call me that. Sit,” Louis doesn’t turn from where he’s stood, looking out the window. Harry feels slightly like he’s in the Fifty Shades of Grey film. He tries not to think about that.

Harry sits obediently, opposite Louis’ desk, observing the room for the first time. He was right with his first impression – Louis’ office is a good chunk of the whole side of the building, the entire back wall is just a glass window. Louis’ large desk is sat off to the right of the room, a computer and several frames stood on top of it, where towards the left of the room there’s three couches surrounding a large coffee table, presumably where Louis’ low-key meetings take place. It’s a beautiful office, really.

“I knew you didn’t look like a ‘Marcel’,” Louis says, finally turning around and making his way to the chair opposite Harry.

Harry can’t focus on anything other than the mantra of _CODE RED, CODE RED, CODE RED,_ playing in his head.

His heart is pounding and he’s starting to sweat again, but he needs to calm himself before his fight or flight instinct kicks in and he just runs – well, no. Harry is fully trained in jiu jitsu, and can have Louis passed out on the ground in seconds and be well and truly under the radar before Louis has returned to consciousness.  But still, he needs to sit here and find out what Louis knows.

“What do you mean?” Harry feigned confusion, twisting his face in as a convincing mask as he can try. It doesn’t work.

“Fuck off, you know what I mean. I know what you’re doing. There was something up with you, I knew it. There had to be _something_ , right? You’re fit, you’re sweet, you’re funny – but yeah, there had to be something. So, you’re a thief. Honestly, I was hoping it’d turn out you had an illegitimate child, or an extra nipple. But no, I don’t do things by halves it seems,” Harry can barely hear him, his blood pound through his ears. Okay, Louis knows. Harry needs to know if he knows who he truly is though. (Somewhere in the back of his mind he’s storing the fact that Louis figured there was something up because he was attracted to Harry and figured there was ‘something’ up. He’ll think about that later. It’ll end up being a sad wank, he knows that.)

“I don’t-” Harry tries to start, but it’s pointless.

“Please,” Louis levels him with a look akin to the one he gave him the first time Harry met him, the one that makes his stomach clench and some sort of strange feeling wash over him – like he’s willing to do anything to get rid of that look from Louis’ face. “Don’t treat me like a complete idiot – it’s taken me best part of a month to figure out what you were doing. You’re good at what you do, _Marcel_ ,” Louis positively spat the name at Harry. “I’ve a few tricks up my sleeve though too, managed to figure out what exactly you’re doing.”

There’s no point in lying any more. Harry still needs to know what Louis knows. He needs to- _oh shit_.

“Who else knows?” Subduing Louis and running is one thing, but if he’s going the entire security team outside the door waiting for him. Well. He’s only so good.

Louis just glares at him intensely for a few seconds, before Harry can see some sort of resolve pass Louis’ eyes and he sighs heavily, though his levelling glare is still in place.

“Just me. I was capable of figuring you out on my own, cheers,”

“I didn’t mean-”

“Quiet,” Louis snaps, leaning forward in his large chair to rest on the desk, still glaring at Harry. Neither of them speak for a long time – it could have been a few seconds, but Harry starts to wonder what year it is by now.

“Why?” Louis asks, quirking an eyebrow when Harry doesn’t reply immediately. Harry’s not exactly sure how to respond in a way that isn’t rude or condescending. After a moment though, Louis pipes up again. “You can use your voice now,” and that sends a shoot of heat down Harry’s spine in a way that is so fucked up, he’s not dwelling on it. Not now, not ever.

“Well,” Louis seemed slightly taken aback when Harry started speaking after Louis said he could. Not dwelling. _Never_. “I mean. Charity?” Harry shrugs, though Louis doesn’t seem to be convinced with that answer. “I’ve never taken a penny for my own benefit, I swear. Never. We-“

“We?” Louis cut in again, a harder edge to his stare suddenly and Harry suppresses a shiver.

“My flatmate and I, we live off of my temp work wages and his wages, I’ve _never_ taken a pence for myself. Anything I take goes to a certain charity as an anonymous donation,” Harry says wholeheartedly, his eyes wide as he leans forward, almost pleading with Louis to believe him.

Louis just stares at him again, and Harry starts to feel even more nauseous than before.

“What charity is it this time?” Harry’s honestly floored for a minute. If he was expecting anything, it wasn’t that.

“Stonewall,” Harry says. He’s got a list as long as his arm of charities he wants to help out, and that one had been near the top of the list for a while. He’s been waiting for a chance to get a good job so he can give them a good few quid, and this was his chance. So he took it.

Louis is silent again, Harry decides to continue.

“They’re a LGBT organisation who support-”

“I know who they are, thank you,” Louis spits again, his tone and his glare still venomous and Harry feels about three inches tall. He shuts up immediately, like he’s waiting for Louis to prompt him again before he can speak.

It’s a long time until Louis speaks again, and Harry’s positive they’ve spent a good ten or fifteen minutes by now just in heavy silence.

“Okay,” Louis seems to have come to some sort of decision as he flattens his hands on the table and sits back in the large, leather chair. “I’m not going to tell anyone,” Harry doesn’t interrupt, but he’s sure he doesn’t need to when he can feel his eyes widening and his cheeks almost splitting with a grin. “But you’re to finish your weeks here without even fucking _thinking_ about fiddling the accounts, do you understand me?”

“I-” Harry can’t even get a second word out before Louis interrupts _again_ , his voice several decibels louder than before, causing Harry to jump.

“I _said_ , do you understand me?” Louis yells.

“Yes,” Harry’s catching on to how this conversation is going. Speak when spoken to, and say what Louis wants to hear. He can do that.

“Good,” Louis slips back into silence and seems to have another internal battle going on while Harry watches him silently. He’s still not ruled out knocking Louis unconscious and running, if anything just to escape the weight of the room right now.

Although, _Christ_ , he’s so disgusted with himself – but there’s something about the way Louis is looking at him, the way he’s sitting in that chair in a pristine white shirt and slacks that Harry might have noticed clinging onto his arse while he was at the window, the way his jaw is dusted with scruff Louis hasn’t shaved in a few days. Fuck, he looks like a proper sugar daddy, and Harry’s only human.

“There’s one thing you can do though, Marcel,” Louis snarls the name again, and Harry feels like trembling. Weak. He’s so weak.

“Yes?”

“You can come around the desk and kiss me,” Louis says, completely deadpan, folding his hands in his lap.

Harry’s now actually 90% sure this whole day has been a fever dream, or Niall spiked his tea this morning and he’s still tripping.

“Wha-”

“I didn’t say you can speak,” Louis drawls, “I said you can come around the desk, and you can kiss me. That’s twice I’ve had to say that now. I’m not a fan of repeating myself,”

Harry stands up so fast he feels lightheaded. He’s slow though, as he makes his way around the now intimidatingly large, mahogany desk. Louis swings his chair around so he’s facing Harry when he gets to him. Louis looks up at Harry, suddenly a soft enough look in his eyes as he scans Harry’s face, like he’s looking for a confirmation Harry wants this. Like he’s giving Harry an opportunity to turn and go and never see Louis Tomlinson or even speak of Malik Inc. again.

But he’s weak. He’s so fucking weak.

Harry presses his mouth onto Louis’, placing his hand on the side of Louis’ jaw. And really, he’s quite surprised at how tender it is, given the circumstances. Louis’ hand slides up Harry’s arm softly to curl into Harry’s hair gently, almost cupping the back of Harry’s head. Louis licks along Harry’s lip and Harry tilts his head, opening his mouth so Louis’ tongue can press against his own.

And it’s nice, it’s really just nice.

Until Louis decides that’s enough of that.

Without any warning, he tightens the hand he has in Harry’s hair, fisting his hand and firmly pulling on the handful of hair to pull him even closer, pressing his lips to Harry’s hard enough to bruise and getting Harry into the position where he can dig his sharp little teeth into Harry’s bottom lip.

Harry wonders if he’s allowed make noise – and it doesn’t worry him nearly as much as it should that he has to _wonder_ if he’s allowed make noise – though he’s never been quiet and he’s not sure how good he would be at keeping in the moans that are trying to get out.

A soft whine passes through him when Louis tugs his bottom lip. Louis doesn’t reprimand him though, so he lets out another low moan into Louis’ mouth when their tongues meet again.

When Louis pulls back, he keeps a firm hold on Harry’s hair to keep him from following Louis’ mouth – which, well yeah. He did try to do that. Sue him.

“I want you over the desk, on your stomach, hands on the edge of the table and _nowhere_ else, you understand?”

“Yes,” Harry agrees as he hurries to lean over the desk, careful not to knock anything over. He’s glad he’s facing away from Louis though when he feels a soft smile spread across his face as Louis removes the frames from the table. His family doesn’t need to see this.

“Yes, what?” Harry’s not really sure what Louis is trying here, to be honest. Louis probably doesn’t know either.

“Yes, Louis,” he breathes out as Louis tugs Harry’s jeans down to his thighs, and Harry bows his back slightly, leaving his boxer-cla arse arched in the air.

“No,” Harry yelps as Louis delivers a harsh smack onto his arse to reiterate his point, “I don’t know your name, you don’t get to use mine. Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry tries again.

“Wrong,” Louis sighs as he delivers another slap to Harry’s arse, before he goes back to kneading the plump flesh through his boxer shorts. “I’ve told you _several_ times not to call me that. You’re being a bad boy, now. C’mon. Yes, what?”

Harry starts to panic. He doesn’t want to be a bad boy – he wants to be good for Louis, he wants to please him. He’s panicking, his pulse picking up even more than it’s already racing, his whole body practically vibrating. He doesn’t want to fuck up, what if he gets it wrong again and Louis decides he doesn’t want to bother with Harry? Harry starts thinking about how dominating Louis looked sitting in his chair, starts thinking about how everybody fears him, starts thinking about how hard Louis worked to be where he is today, starts thinking about how _good_ he wants to be for Louis and. It just kind of happened, really.

“Yes, Daddy,” Harry pants, subtly shaking his ass towards Louis – not sure himself if he’s asking for another slap or asking for something else.

All he gets though is Louis’ hand stilling, still firmly grasping Harry’s arse, and a soft grunt.

“Fuck. Yeah, that’ll do nicely,” and with that Louis is shuffling about and Harry can feel his boxers being yanked down to join his jeans around his knees. He can’t see Louis, doesn’t know what he’s doing or what he should expect. Another moment passes in a blur as Louis pulls Harry up off the desk just enough to unbutton it with deft little fingers and pull it from Harry’s body, before pushing his torso back onto the hard desk, running his hand up and down Harry’s bare back almost tenderly, before he pulls back and Harry tenses back up, just waiting.

He’s put out of his misery soon enough though when he feels Louis’ hands grasp both his cheeks and pull them apart, and he’s so open in front of Louis, displayed right in front of him and- _fuck_ , the door isn’t even locked. Somebody could come looking for Louis and they’d find Harry bent over Louis’ desk, his lips bruised, his cheeks flushed and Louis Tomlinson stood behind him, grasping his cheeks that are probably tinged pink from Louis’ hands. And fuck if that doesn’t make his cock harden against his thigh, almost fully hard with embarrassingly little contact.

“Stay still,” Louis grunts from behind him, but before Harry figures out if he’s supposed to reply or not, he feels a strong, wet force at his hole. There’s no keeping in his high whine when Louis licks a firm stripe over his hole. “Be a good boy,” Louis half whispers, before spitting on Harry’s hole, making Harry shiver with just how fucking _dirty_ this is. Louis dives right back in, licking insistently over his hole, his teeth catching over Harry’s rim occasionally while he licks and sucks loudly.

“Lean over and get the bottle of hand lotion from the top drawer,” Louis pauses long enough to growl at Harry before he continues rimming Harry filthily, his hands grasping Harry’s cheeks, so hard that Harry might have bruises in the shape of Louis’ fingers for the next week. His cock blurts out pre-come at the thought.

“Did I stutter?” Harry’s quick to remember what Louis said, fumbling to open the drawer but careful not to move his arse from where Louis wants it.

He hands the bottle backwards, his head swimming.

“Hands back on the table, princess,” Louis says as he takes the bottle and stands back up behind Harry, pressing his clothed cock against the cleft of Harry’s arse, causing Harry to whimper, but he’s strong enough not to try push back – Louis never said he could move. He plants his hands back on the edge of the desk, gripping until his knuckles turn white.

“Good boy, you going to be a good boy and take my fingers, yeah? Use your words,” Louis asks, opening the cap on the hand lotion.

“Yes, yes Daddy, give me your fingers please,” Harry should feel so ashamed of himself, so disappointed in how some man has him reduced to a quivering wreck from practically nothing. But he’s also never been this turned on in his life.

Louis doesn’t say anything, just runs a slippery finger along Harry’s arse before pushing in, none too gently. Harry’s moan dies in his throat as Louis wastes no time in fucking his finger into Harry, he just subtly spreads his legs to make it easier for Louis to thrust his finger into Harry. Louis doesn’t call him up on moving, but Harry doesn’t risk pushing it.

“Another finger, princess?” Louis asks as he watches Harry’s hips twitch involuntarily, trying his best to stop himself pushing back.

“Please, Daddy,” Harry grunts out, as Louis drizzles lotion down Harry’s crack, easily sliding a second finger in, keeping up his brutal pace.

Harry’s starting to lose it a bit, clamping his teeth down on his forearm to keep some of his sounds in. Louis notices though. He slows his hand to a torturous pace while his free hand pulls Harry’s head back by his hair.

“None of that, princess. You’re mine to bite, don’t forget that,” Louis accentuates his point by sinking his teeth into Harry’s neck, sucking a painful bruise into his neck.

“Sorry, Daddy. M’sorry,” Harry gasps out, though he leans his neck into Louis’ touch.

“Be a good boy,” Louis whispered into Harry’s ear, tugging on his earlobe. Harry has a response on the tip of his tongue, he does, but that’s when Louis decides to crook his finger, purposefully pressing the pads of his fingers against Harry’s prostate, and his response just turns into a slurred garble of ‘ _fuck_ ’ ‘ _please_ ’ and ‘ _Daddy_ ’. He stops thrusting his fingers and just leaves them there, insistent pressure on his prostate, revelling in how Harry’s whining and writhing, trying not to buck back onto Louis’ fingers – either to get Louis to start thrusting again and alleviate the pressure, or for more force on his prostate, Harry’s not sure. He’s not 100% on anything right now.

“Please, Daddy, please just-”

“Good boys aren’t greedy. What do you want? Another finger?” Without a pause, Louis manages to squeeze a third finger into Harry’s arse, but thankfully he starts moving them again, thrusting brutally and trying his hardest to separate them and stretch Harry even more. Which, fuck. Harry has an idea what he’s trying to do, and he couldn’t be more on board with that idea.

“Fuck me Daddy, fuck me please, I need you to fuck me,” Harry’s voice is foreign to himself, octaves higher than it has been in years, and so desperate he feels himself flush for more than the fact Louis Tomlinson is three fingers deep in his arse and his cock has never been harder.

“You see,” Louis sounds so calm to Harry, so in control – so completely opposite to how Harry feels right now, “I would. I’d love to, in fact. But I have a personal rule that I don’t fuck people whose names I don’t know. And I’m very sure your name is _not_ Marcel. So how about you tell me your name?” Harry can envision Louis’ smirk behind his eyelids, but can’t bring himself to actually look at Louis. (He’s quite sure if he does, he’ll come and ruin everything.)

But. Shit. Okay.

Harry isn’t going to tell Louis his name. He can’t.

“Niall, m’name’s Niall. Niall Horan.” Fuck it, better than nothing.

Louis just sighs, “No, it’s not.” And he does the unthinkable. He slows down his fingers even more, and removes one. And now the two fingers aren’t enough and Harry might cry.

“It is-“ Harry starts but he’s cut off when Louis smacks his palm firmly down onto Harry’s arse again.

“ _Don’t_ lie to me,” Louis sounds like his teeth are gritted and Harry takes a few steady breaths to try level himself out again. His brain is starting to feel fuzzy and Harry’s not sure he could physically open his eyes – unless Louis specifically told him to.

“Nick Grimshaw,” Okay that one Harry’s not sure he can deal with – Nick’s lovely and all, but not who he needs to be thinking about right now.

This time, while Louis slows his hand and removes a finger, keeping just the one finger barely moving, only rubbing small circles firmly onto his spot, he also snorts out a derisive laugh.

“Definitely not. We’ll try one more time. One more time. What’s your name? Tell Daddy your name, be a good boy,”

“Harry,” Harry wails, “I’m Harry Styles,” this time he does push back onto Louis’ finger, not able to do anything but try get more from Louis. Get anything he’ll give him.

Louis removes his finger and Harry goes to turn around and face him – fuck, he’s ready to get his mum to send a picture of his birth certificate if he needs to, he just needs Louis inside of him as soon as he can – but Louis bites out a sharp “Don’t you move,” and Harry stays put, hands still gripping the table side, chin resting on the top and he waits.

His eyes are still closed, his breath is still laboured, but he can hear Louis moving around behind him, and he just stays put. He feels it when Louis drops the bottle of lotion back on the table and his breathing picks up again.

“Now that, Harry Styles, I believe,” is all he grunts out before he’s pushing the blunt head of his cock against Harry’s hole and he’s so thick and heavy and hard inside of Harry, that Harry fears he might pass out.

“Oh God, thank you Daddy,” Harry isn’t in control of his brain anymore, everything is just _LouisLouisLouis_ and Harry doesn’t want this to end.

“Jesus,” Louis whispers to himself, before he bottoms out, his hips pressed tightly against Harry’s arse and he leans over Harry’s back, pulling Harry back by his hair to kiss and bite at his neck while he lets Harry adjust. “Take it so well, baby. So good for Daddy. You’re so tight and hot around Daddy, _Harry_ ,”

Harry preens at the use of his name, shamefully he’s not actually sure when they last time he had sex with someone who knew his actual name, and fuck. Of course it’d be _Louis_ who gets him to admit it, who can work it out of him. Honestly, if he promised him a fucking like this one, Harry would kill a man for Louis.

“You ready, baby?”

“Yeah,” he tries to nod, but he’s stopped by the sharp sting when Louis tugs his hair to keep him in place, “Yes Daddy, I’m ready,”

Louis doesn’t reply, he just lets go of Harry’s hair and kisses behind his ear tenderly before he straightens up and grips Harry’s hips with both hands, pulling out until just the tip of his cock rest inside Harry, and then slamming back in, causing the desk to lurch violently and Harry groans deeply again.

A stray thought passes through him to see if Louis has CCTV in his office and can he get a copy of this. He’ll ask later.

Louis pistons his hips viciously into Harry, dragging his cock against Harry’s prostate on each thrust. “So good, baby. Take it so well. Like you were made for my cock, Harry. _God_ you should see this, how you clench when I pull out, like you’re trying to keep me inside of you. How on every thrust your hips twitch, like you’re trying your best not to fuck back onto my cock – because Daddy never said you could move, did he?” Harry is astounded at how much Louis’ able to talk. But he has to answer.

“No Daddy, won’t move. Never said I could. Wanna be good, Daddy, let you use me,” He’s pretty sure there’s a whole sentence in there somewhere. Louis seems to know what he means though, as he pushes back into Harry with gusto until Harry only stops wailing to catch his breath and then goes back to nonsensical moans and groans and _Daddy_.

“Daddy’s gonna come, Harry. I’m- fuck, you’re so good Harry, so good,” Louis grunts out, and Harry knows exactly when Louis comes – he’s sure he’ll remember how Louis’ fingers grip his hips so tightly that his blunt nails might have punctured the skin for a very long time, and the high whine Louis lets slip – after being so quiet for this whole thing bar when he wants to praise Harry – will reverberate in his ears for years to come.

Louis slumps over Harry’s back for a few moments, catching his own breath, and Harry’s afraid to move in case this really has just been a fever dream and he’s about to pop the bubble and wake up in wet sheets.

“Do you want to come in Daddy’s mouth, Harry?” Louis whispers, still breathless, into Harry’s ear. He’s lucky Harry doesn’t blow his load right then.

“ _Yes_ , oh yes please Daddy, let me come in your mouth,” Harry whimpers, circling his hips on Louis’ softening cock.

“Okay baby,” Louis straightens up and taps Harry’s hips, signalling for him to turn and face him. Harry hasn’t seen Louis pretty much since this whole thing started and he’s so lucky for that because he’s not sure if he could’ve survived. Louis’ face is soft, betrays his voice – though he has a hard edge to his eyes still that Harry’s sure would’ve melted a weaker man. Okay he’s not fooling anyway, he’s so weak. His cock throbs from between his legs as he takes in Louis’ naked form, Louis’ who’s tying a condom and throwing it in the waste basket beside the desk – the condom that he just filled after fucking Harry into oblivion. Jesus. He needs to get a hold on himself or he’s going to come on Louis’ face as soon as he gets a hand on him. Maybe Louis would like that.

“Such a beautiful boy,” Louis kisses him softly when he approaches Harry again, and Harry’s so relieved for the moment to clear his head before Louis drops to his knees and starts peppering kisses along Harry’s cock. “So good,” and with that he sinks down Harry’s cock, getting well more than a mouthful on his first go, his hand pumping the base of his dick and he lets gobs of spit roll down to make the slide easier. It’s quick and it’s messy and it’s the best blowjob Harry’s ever gotten.

“Gonna come, Daddy, can I come?” Harry’s not exactly sure what he’d do if Louis said no. Thankfully, he doesn’t need to worry. Louis just nods as best as he can, looking up at Harry with big, blue eyes and his thin lips stretched wide over Harry’s girth and that’s it. He’s done.

Louis swallows easily around Harry’s cock, taking everything Harry’s giving and running his tongue up and down Harry’s cock as he does it. Harry breaks eye contact first, his eyes scrunching shut as he finishes spilling down Louis’ throat.

Louis doesn’t pull away until Harry starts whining and twitching, his cock too sensitive for the swirling licks that Louis’ tongue is doing right now.

He kisses Harry again, even more intimate than the last kiss – because this time Harry can taste his own come in Louis’ mouth. Shit. He needs a lie down.

When they separate, Louis flops down into his chair – that _fucking_ chair – and stares resolutely at the floor.

Harry’s not exactly sure what he thought would happen, but yeah. Okay. He deserves that – he _deserves_ prison, but apparently Louis isn’t going to do that to him. So, silver lining and all that.

Harry pulls up his boxers and his jeans with as much dignity as a man who just whined ‘Daddy’ to a another man – who can easily hang his entire life over his head – for best part of an hour can muster.

It’s when he’s gathering his shirt that he doesn’t even fully remember abandoning from the floor that Louis pipes up.

“Harry, wait,” he mumbles, and Harry’s not sure of the protocol. Does he sit on the chair and listen to whatever Louis’ going to say? Honestly, he still feels like knocking Louis unconscious and moving to Zimbabwe for the foreseeable future.

“Yeah?” He opts for standing awkwardly with one arm in his shirt and his bandana around his neck where it had slipped from the top of his head. He can only imagine how fucked out he looks.

“Shouldn’t that be ‘yes, Daddy’,” Louis smirks like he can’t fucking help himself.

“Fuck off,” Harry growls, shoving his other arm into his sleeve and making for the door.

“No! Harry, sorry, I didn’t- not funny, okay. Message received. Please just sit,” Louis points towards the large couches rather than the chair. For the life of him, Harry doesn’t know why. But he listens and sits on the couch as he buttons back up the shirt.

Louis joins him after a minute, now fully dressed himself. He sits at the opposite end of the couch, looking out of his depth. Well. That makes two of them.

 “So… I don’t know if you’ll believe me or not, but I didn’t call you in here with the idea of that happening,” Harry half believes him. “I meant what I said too, I won’t report your, um, _doings_ to anyone… I think I need to tell you that I didn’t just do… what I just did because I wanted to punish you or anything. I’ve wanted to do that since you nearly burned my nipples off with my own coffee,”

Harry looks down as a grin spreads across his face against his better judgement.

“But really – fuck, this is all so fucked up. But I wanted to say this to you when you started here, before I knew about anything else. I, um, might have read your journal – don’t look at me like that, no, I’m sorry okay, but I was looking for you and you weren’t there and it was on the table and I wondered if you’d written anything about me – _stop_ looking at me like that. I’m sorry. I’m a twat, I know. But I noticed you wrote a lot of lyrics in it, and I read them and they’re _really_ good. And Zayn Malik, head of music, is my best mate – also mates with Ed Sheeran, and I mentioned a lyric in passing to Ed one night and he wants to meet you and have a writing session if you’re free – although I swear, Harry, you can’t piss about with the accounts anymore, and I’m crazy for even doing this, but,” Louis trails off, his eyes drifting to his twiddling thumbs instead.

Definitely a fever dream.

“What lyric?” Harry’s asks, not sure why that seems so important to him right now when there’s talk of Ed Sheeran happening right in front of him.

“’It’s four am and I know that you’re with him, I wonder if he knows that I’ve touched your skin,’” Louis recites perfectly, the line obviously having stuck with him. Harry feels like he’s going to throw up again.

Louis takes his silence as a prompt to continue, “I never cancelled on him after I found out about what you were doing here, and if you want it’s still something that can happen – and you never have to see me again, if you don’t want to, don’t worry. It’s okay, but. Yeah. That’s that,”

Harry’s not sure what else to do than lurch across the couch and hug Louis, so he does just that.

Maybe if Harry can bag a proper decent paying job, he doesn’t have to fiddle any accounts.

Maybe he can see Louis regularly.

Maybe Louis can fiddle this accountant.

Harry’s laughing at his own joke, but Louis doesn’t even ask what he’s giggling at. He just pulls his head back and kisses Harry softly, smiling into the kiss.

Sure, maybe they didn’t meet under the best circumstances. But maybe it was just a twist of fate. Made it so neither of them could walk away.

“Also,” Louis whispers against Harry’s mouth, “Isn’t _two_ extra nipples a bit excessive?”

Harry bites Louis’ lip gently in reply. Maybe Louis Tomlinson is a bit of an arsehole after all.


End file.
